


different sizes of the same boot

by military_bluebells



Series: Generation Kill Week [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: (because marines), Developing Relationship, Drinking, During Canon, Generation Kill Week, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Paddle Party, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: As strange as it sounds, it starts with a pair of military-issue boots.
Relationships: Timothy Bryan/Ray Person
Series: Generation Kill Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967950
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	different sizes of the same boot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanuk_dain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/gifts).



> You do so much for the Tim/Ray ship and you're such an amazing person, you deserve something in return. I hope you like it! :D
> 
> Day 2: **Boots** / Coffee Ship AU/ ABO

Once the airfield had been taken, Tim set up a makeshift triage centre – a couple of empty ammo crates in a circle – and fetched Olson from Alpha to help him get through the men. He started his rounds with 2-2: he’d heard Pappy’s boys moaning about their feet earlier in the morning. 

He told Jacks to undo his boots and then took one foot into his gloved hands to examine it. The skin was pale and peeling and smelt almost as bad as rotted flesh. He grimaced and lowered the foot onto the small crate in front of him to find the gauze from his med pack. The skin around Jacks’ ankle had been rubbed raw, red and scratched but not bleeding. Infection was still a risk, especially in their current conditions so he found the anti-septic cream and carefully applied it to the scratches before wrapping Jacks’ ankle in gauze. 

“Just keep it dry, eh?” 

Behind them, Olson was treating Rudy, who responded, “I know they’re heinous, bro. I’m living in it.” 

Chaffin dropped down onto the crate next to Jacks and slipped his boots off. Tim couldn't stop himself from gagging as the strong stench filled the air when Chaffin put his feet up on another crate with a loud sigh. 

Jacks grimaced, “Jesus, smells like dick cheese.” 

“When’s the last time you took your boot off and gave your paw some air?” Tim asked with exasperation as he took another small roll of gauze out of his pack. These idiots were going to get themselves kill not by bullets but by fucking sepsis. 

“Come on Doc, give it a rest. You know we can’t. They ordered us to sleep in the damn things.” 

“Yeah well, use a bit of common-sense Chaffin,” Tim said, motioning Jacks to put his other foot up on the crate, “they’re gonna be more pissed if your feet rot off and they have med-vac you.” Tim turned Jacks foot over but this one had seen slightly less abuse, so he took a look at Chaffin’s. He should change his gloves, but he only had so many and he’d rather use them to treat sucking chest wounds and other serious injuries. He was gonna have to round up all the boys for a PSA about keeping their damn feet dry. “Air-dry them and your boots for now and next time we stop for a reset, take five minutes to take your boots off and swap your socks.” 

“Sure, Doc.” 

Chaffin’s feet were about the same as Jacks', foul-smelling but not so far along that Tim was worried about serious trench foot. He looked over his shoulder to look at Rudy's, which are slightly better but still pale and wrinkled. Not even balancing his karats can protect Rudy from normal marine problems. He’d already checked Pappy so next on his list is 2-1 Alpha since he'd checked his own team already and he was sure the Gunny to have his boys squared away. Colbert should have his boys in line too – he’d heard him checking if Trombley had eaten, drunk and shitted before an assault – but he didn’t trust him to police Person. 

He found 2-1 Alpha digging in, Person hanging on the hook as Trombley, Hasser and Reporter dug into the loose sand. Colbert was stringing up a canopy over them, tying the canvas taut. 

“Person, I need to check your feet.” 

Person’s head perked up behind the widescreen and a wide – manic – grin spreads across his face, “I didn’t take you for a foot man Doc, but hey I ain’t judging.” 

Tim rolled his eyes as Brad replied, “Ray, you’re the most sexually perverted red neck I know, you have no room to judge anyone or anything.” From anyone else, the words would’ve been cutting but Colbert and Person shared a grin over them like Colbert just compliment Person’s shooting skills. Marines were a fucked-up bunch. 

“And you know a lot of red necks, do you?” Person cracked back as he slipped out of the Humvee. 

“More than enough.” 

He had to admit their back and forth was entertaining, but he couldn’t indulge in it too much, not when he might be holding their intestines in an hours’ time. Person laughed and ambled over to him, following Tim to his makeshift triage centre. Tim busied himself with finding another set of gauze and anti-septic cream as Person sat on the crate in front of him. Their boots were close enough together that Tim could note the difference in size; Person’s boots were smaller than his by a size or two, which made sense since he was one of the shortest marines. Tim scanned the rest of his body, taking in the baggy fit of his MOPP suit and the sharp line of his jaw. 

Person’s feet weren’t the worst he’s seen but they weren’t the best either, pale and wrinkled but not rubbed raw. 

“Man, this is a foot fetisher’s dream.” Person commented as Tim rubs some cream into the ball of his left foot, the one that uses the gas pedals. 

Tim rolled his eyes and said dryly, “There’s nothing better than rotting feet.” 

Person barked a laugh, “You _do_ have a sense of humour, I knew it!” 

Tim didn’t dignify that with a response, pulling back to see if Person’s foot needed gauze to protect it further. He slapped the foot off his thigh when he was finished and told Person the same shit he’d told all the other men; keep your feet dry, change your socks, and give them air every once in a while. 

“You think Brad’ll let me kick them up on the dashboard.” Person asked while he re-tied his boots. 

“If you do and you crash, I’m not digging your knees out of your chest.” He already had to deal with enough stupid injuries. 

Person snorted like Tim had told him a joke and grinned when he levelled a glare at him to tell he was serious. 

“Where’s my RTO!” 

Person sighed dramatically and yelled, “I ain’t your bitch homes.” He turned back to Tim and smiled apologetically, “Sorry to cut our date short Doc but he gets cranky without me.” 

Tim gave Person a look, but it slid off his back like water off a duck. It was impressive how much shit Person let go: a lesser marine would get up in arms, but Person let it drop off him, no feelings hurt. Tim wished he could be a bit more like that: he could hold a grudge almost as badly as his father and less things he had in common with the man, the better. 

He watched Person’s boot walk away and pushed any thoughts of home out of his mind. 

-

The first thing he saw when he glanced into one of the offices on the third floor, were Person’s boots. Tim had to hand it to him, he'd picked well, high enough up that most would give up before finding him and further enough away from the stairs that the few that got up this high would be able to find him easily. Unluckily for him, Tim was more than happy to search the whole damn building to find him. 

He stopped in the doorway to take Person in and decide on his approach. It seemed like the anger had drained out of him: his shoulders were slumped and he’d curled his legs up into his chest, making himself as small as possible in the corner. 

“How’s the face?” he asked, deciding to get to the point. Person unfurled a little, wiping his hands down his face before looking up at him. Tim held back a wince. Person's right eye was already starting to swell, a small cut above the eyebrow and one on the cheek bone, along with some growing bruises. Rudy’d got him good. 

Tim stepped into the office and knelt next to Person, rummaging through his pack to find the anti-septic cream. He gestured and Person leaned forward, closing his eyes. Tim smeared the cream along the cuts as gently as he could, careful not to press too hard on the bruising areas. Person sat perfectly still as he treated him, the shaking from the Ripped Fuel absent. On one hand, Tim was glad Person had stopped taking the stuff because it had been slowly running him into the ground, bit by bit. On the other hand however, the sudden cut off had caused a similarly sudden decline. Tim had observed Person's withdrawal carefully, hyper-aware of the post deployment drop most men felt that would no doubt be multiplied by Person's amphetamine use, but even he hadn't predicted just how far Person would drop. 

“He get you anywhere else?” 

“Ribs and neck.” 

Tim hummed and carefully tilted Person’s neck with his fingers to check his range of movement. He winced when Tim turn him left and right and when he guided his chin to his chest. There was a little bit of bruising appearing where Rudy’s thighs had been and the pain from the back of his neck was probably from a forceful pull, but nothing felt out of place or broken. 

“Shirt.” 

Person went to raise his arms but winced before he could get them up above his ribs. Tim sighed heavily and pushed the shirt up himself. He hid a grimace at how much his ribs stuck out from his skin. Pressing his fingers lightly around Person’s sides and up across his chest and abdomen, he found no broken ribs but judging by the pain they were pretty well bruised. 

“You’ll live.” 

“Yay.” Person said dully with a equally worrying look in his eyes. The brown of them was dark and empty, no humour, no mischief, not even a spark of rage, just framed by the bags that couldn’t be blamed on Rudy’s fist. Tim twisted his mouth and sighed again before rising into a squat. 

“Look Person, sort this shit out with Rudy then eat some chow and get some sleep. I’ll give you some pills, if – _if_ you really need them and I don’t want to see you alone, got it?” 

Person gave him an amused look if Tim could call it that, when it was just a hollow imitation. His chest twisted and he knew he’d regret a lot of things when he reflected on the health and wellbeing of Corporal Person during this invasion. 

“I think that’s the most words you’ve ever said.” 

Tim huffed, “It seems we’ve swapped.” 

Person snorted, “Hell is freezing over as we speak. Hey, do you think this mean Brad will finally quit the Corps and pursue his dream of becoming a ballet dancer?” 

Tim couldn’t help but chuckle, “I think that’d be the first sign of the apocalypse.” 

Person grinned sharply, “I think that would be when Encino Man shacks up with Casey Kasum.” That was not an image Tim ever wanted in his brain and he gagged to his side. Person took great pleasure in that, laughing so suddenly he clutched his ribs. Tim let himself grin because he could deal with a laughing Person much better than a silent, empty one. 

He took a few deep breaths before blurting out, “I’ve never seen you grin like that.” Tim schooled his face but raised an eyebrow. Person waved his hand, “Like you’re actually happy and not, you know, planning where you’re going to bury my body.” 

“Who says I wasn’t happy then?” 

Person’s laugh was softer, quieter, and it made Tim’s stomach tighten for a blinding second. _Oh_ , he thought, _oh_. 

-

Tim didn’t really know how it happened. One second he was alone, waiting for someone to pull the short straw and sit next to him. It was at times like this – when they weren’t bound by a primal desire to stay alive – that he resented his need to distance himself from other men. He was an adult though – a mostly well-adjusted one – and he was used to it, so he stared out of the window at the runway and the last pieces of Iraq that he would see until the time came again to return. 

“Shit homes, you’d think with the fucking huge budget our military gets that they’d at least invest in getting their troops back in one piece.” Tim turned in surprise as Ray flopped into the seat beside him. Ray didn’t even pause, “I mean who built this piece of shit because it definitely wasn’t Uncle Sam.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Tim said, still staring at Ray with confusion. He straightened then and tried to spot where Colbert and Hasser were sitting. He found Colbert easily in the middle aisle two rows down between what looked like Poke and Kocher, and Hasser with sitting – surprisingly – with Trombley three rows in front of them. 

“Oh yeah, Walt and Trombley have got this weird bromance thing going on and I was _not_ going to be a third wheel for a six hour flight.” Ray whispered, quiet enough that only Tim would hear him. The look on Ray’s face told him that he was be trusted with this, trusted not to say shit. Tim just nodded – message received – and Ray relaxed. Tim hadn’t even noticed he was tense. “Also, I love Brad but we’ve spent more than a month in close quarters and I know he’d never say it to my face – or at all really – but the guy’s on the end of his rope.” 

It took him by surprise because he would never have noticed that there was anything up with the two of them: their back and forth had only picked up since the new topic of home had been allowed. He’d heard more insults about their respective families in the past 48-hours than he’d heard in the entire invasion. 

“Hey, not to be an asshole, but can I take the window seat, I’m planning on just conking out until we hit Spain and you’d have to play a game of twister to get to the toilet.” 

Tim just nodded, even though he hated aisle seats for how open they were. He told himself as they shuffle around that it had to do with the dark bags that still hung under Ray’s eyes and not the fact that he was finding it harder and harder to say no to him. 

True to his word, Ray fell asleep as soon as they were in the air, his head resting against the fuselage on his rolled-up flak jacket. He looked painfully young when his face wasn't contorting into some of the most animated expression Tim had ever seen. He stared for longer than he should before pulling out the book he’d borrowed from T. Ray stayed asleep until Tim hits page eighty-four. Tim didn’t say anything when Ray jerked awake and rubbed at his eyes, didn’t move his eyes away from the page even though he wasn’t reading any more. 

“You can use my shoulder.” Tim could honestly say that he had no idea where it came from. It hadn’t even been a thought. 

Ray looked up at him, his face still sleepy state, open and vulnerable. There was silence for a minute or so but when Tim didn’t take the words back, Ray smiled and moved his flak jacket onto Tim’s shoulder, shuffling around until he was comfortable before immediately dropping off again. Tim stayed frozen because he didn’t want to wake Ray up, but he was regretting his offer. Ray was warm pressed against him, his soft hair tickling the side of Tim's neck, one of his boots pressing against Tim’s. It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes for Tim to slowly curl his arm around Ray’s shoulder and return to his book. 

He didn’t think much more about it until a blanket dropped into his lap. He looked up to find Hasser smirking at him, though it looked a little too soft around the edges to be mocking. 

“I wouldn’t feel too bad, he could wrap a Nun around his finger if he tried hard enough.” Hasser walked off before Tim could reply. He huffed to himself and carefully raised the blanket to his other hand, wrapping it around Ray’s front and pining it to his shoulder with his arm. If Ray edged further and further into him over the course of the flight, Tim didn’t do anything to stop him. 

-

Leave was always a blur. 

He spent it with his sister and his niece, catching up on everything that’d happened in their lives since he’d been away, from all the things Bri had learnt at school to the fresh gossip from Marley’s work. He visited his parents only once on the trip back to Oceanside – that way he didn’t have to stay long – before settling back into the routine at the base. 

Quite a few were leaving the Corps, their minds already made. Among them was the newly promoted Captain Fick, which wasn’t really a surprise to anyone. Tim had to admit he was a little disappointed because Fick was a competent leader and Tim knew he tried his best to do right by the men and that was all Tim asked of his COs. However, he’d rather Fick leave in one piece than become a reluctant leader: those led to dead men in Tim’s experience. 

Fick’s paddle party was held at the Gunny’s house, his wife disappearing with her book club to give them some space. Tim spent most of his time hanging around the edges and talking to T, Stiney, Lovell and Baptista. In a way, every team had become a family of sorts. Tim figured he was the sullen uncle, Lovell the single dad of one, Baptista the weird cousin and T the smart cousin. Other teams had their own dynamics, Ray for example was the mother to Colbert’s father and their two children, Hasser and Trombley, and Reporter was another weird cousin. He'd turned up as well on the invitation of the Gunny and managed to fit in seamlessly, especially with the drinking. 

“Doc!” 

Tim didn’t have time to brace himself for the arm that was thrown over his shoulder. He looked sideways at Ray, who somehow stood taller than him. He looked down and smirked. 

“Person, get off that chair before you break your neck.” 

Ray laughed and the chair rocked. Tim tensed and Ray patted his shoulder, “Chill homes, I have the finely tuned balance of a Recon marine,” He leaned in closer – so close that Tim can see that Ray’s eyes were a solid brown, no flecks of any other colour, “and even if I did break my neck, I’ve got a corpsman to help me.” 

“I can’t help if you snap your spinal cord.” Tim said dryly. Ray laughed brightly and then the Gunny whistled and called for them to shut up so that the paddle ceremony could begin. It started with Christeson since he was the youngest and he told a fond story of Nate directing him when he was shooting at a fireteam. The stories and small speeches continued, making their way around the room. Ray retold the first time they got Nate hammered and it had everyone including him in stitches, Fick blushing furiously as Ray recounted leading the LT in an enthusiastic rendition of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. 

When the paddle wound its way to him, Tim took a second to examine it. It was cherry wood with the new Captain bars, a pair of jump wings and Fick’s other medals on the paddle. Green, tan and black parachute cord wrapped around the handle and The Force Recon insignia adorned the back with a picture of the platoon in the desert; he couldn’t tell if it was Kuwait or Iraq. 

“The first time I truly believed that the LT was as stupidly reckless as the rest of you, was when he jumped out of his Humvee to direct traffic in the middle of an ambush.” The men around them laughed and the LT had the dignity to look a little abashed, “You cannot believe the amount of self-restrain I had to use not to tell him to his face afterwards that he was the most bone-head marine I’d ever had the misfortune of looking after.” There were a lot of ‘ooh’ and derogatory comments about the Navy thrown around as Tim passes the paddle to the Gunny. 

Pappy had the honour of handing the paddle over to Nate, since he’d made it. A cheer went up when Nate’s hand wrapped around the handle, officially – in the eyes of the people who mattered – ending his command. There was a little bit of crying as there always was, but from then on, it was about trying to get Nate as hammered as possible, every marine making sure that Nate’s hand was never empty. Ray even started a loud, off-key rendition of Dancing Queen, much to the Nate’s embarrassment. 

Tim found himself joining in and almost regretted it when Ray noticed and started cackling in the middle of the chorus, rocking on the chair that Nate had been sitting on during the ceremony. Ray’s head was thrown back, his mouth curled into one of the brightest smiles Tim had seen on him, his hair long enough to be slicked back with sweat. He looked like a fucking college kid in his loose black tank top, denim shorts, and red Chucks and yet Tim was hit by a feeling he knew all too well, his stomach rolling like he was descending in C1-30. He downed the shitty bear in his hand and went to find something stronger: this needed hard alcohol to be dealt with. 

-

Tim was given the roster for check-ups on the Monday and by the Friday, he was three-quarters of the way through. His last appointment for the week was Ray which he both dreaded and was happy to be get over with. He'd had almost a week to come to terms with his newest – for lack of better word – ‘crush’. It wasn’t his first guy, though it’d been a while: he’d sworn off dating after the disaster that’d been his relationship with Emmy and hooking up with men took a lot of precautions. 

The door to his temporary practice room swung open and Tim took a deep breath. Ray waltzed in with a large grin and hopped onto the examination table, immediately kicking his legs. While the Ripped Fuel had pushed it through the roof, Tim’d noticed that Ray had a lot of energy naturally, always moving when he didn’t have to be still. His boots had fresh mud on them, but his olive t-shirt wasn’t soaked with sweat, and he had a muddy imprint on one knee so he must’ve been at the range. 

Tim focused on taking a visual examination first, noting the looseness of Ray’s t-shirt and pants and the sharpness of his jawline. He flicked back to Ray’s post-deployment check-up, where his weight was listed as 120, below the minimum weight requirements for his height. 

“Scales first.” Tim said, throwing the clipboard on the table as Ray jumped back down. 

“You want me to take off my boot and shit?” Ray asked. 

“Just boots, keep the other shit.” 

Ray nodded and undid his boots quickly and effectively, slipping them off. He stepped up onto the scale and Tim checked his height. 

“Doc, I stopped growing at sixteen.” 

Tim shrugged and noted down 5’9 on the clipboard, “Colbert might’ve strung up from the rafters with weights on your feet.” Ray snorted and Tim gave him a look as the needle on the balance wobbles. 126lbs, still under the requirements. 

“You're still under Ray.” Tim said and paused, wincing internally at the slip. 

Ray sighed, “I know I’m trying, I’ve had take-out for like five weeks straight, not to mention my grandma stuffed me so full of Acorda when I went home, I couldn’t move without feeling sick.” 

Tim huffed a laugh, “I’ll put you on double rations and speak to the Gunny about reducing your PT.” 

Ray fidgeted on the balance, switching his weight between his feet. Tim waved to the examination table and Ray shuffled over, jumping back onto the table. He’d visibly deflated and Tim wasn’t sure what had caused it. He gestured for Ray to pull his t-shirt up as he pulled out his stethoscope, warming the end with his hand. He pressed it to the top of Ray’s right pectoral, close to the solid black star there. Tim looked away and listened to the beat of his heart. Strong, steady and no arrhythmias. He moved on to check Ray’s lungs and asked, 

“So, what’s crawled up your ass?” 

Ray huffed, “You know Brad asked the same thing.” 

“That’s not an answer.” For a minute Tim thought Ray would blow him off again but Ray’s shoulders slumped. 

“I’m leaving the marines.” He said quietly, serious in way Tim only seen a handful of times, most of them during combat. 

“It’s not for everyone.” Tim said. Not everyone that joined the military was in it for a career like Tim, but he’d always respected anyone that was willing step up and join, not matter the length of time they stayed in. It didn’t seem to help Ray though, because he curled into himself further, drawing one of his legs up onto the table. 

“I feel like shit for leaving the guys.” Ray confessed with a far-off look. 

“Leaving Brad.” Tim added. He’d never known one without the other: they had always been attached at the hip and shoulder, talking through gestures, smirk, and jokes. They were always shadowing one another in some way, even out of theatre. It would be hard to leave behind. Ray gave him a glum smile, barely a quirk of his lips. He looked as hollow as he had after his fight with Rudy, Tim would know. He resumed his check-up, finishing on Ray’s lungs and moving onto his eyes. 

“He won’t be angry with you.” Tim said as he flashed his penlight in Ray’s right eye. 

“You think?” 

“You know him better than I do, but yeah, I think he’d want what’s was best for you.” Tim said before adding, “I think everyone would.” He moved on, “You still got the nightmares?” Ray nodded. 

That had come up in his post-deployment check-up and Tim was pretty sure he’d been prescribed with some pills, like it would help. “You should see someone at the VA, leaving or not, especially if they carry on.” Ray nodded again. It was a tossup if he would go, Tim wasn’t about to pretend that he knew Ray enough to know. Tim checked Ray’s left eye and offered another piece of advice, “Tell Colbert before you do any to the official stuff, it’ll go over better.” 

They carried on the rest of the check up in silence, Ray thinking to himself and Tim minding his own business. Whatever Ray decided, Tim knew everyone would have his back. 

“Thanks Doc.” Ray said quietly when Tim finished. 

“No problem Ray.” 

-

Ray’s paddle party was a very loud affair, even more so than Nate’s had been. Tim supposed that was because he'd been an officer. It was held at Colbert’s place which wasn’t much of a surprise, and there was more alcohol than in most bars. Tim watched Ray jump from group to group, drunkenness making little difference to his usual demeanour. He’d found a blue paper crown somewhere and it sat crookedly on his head as he talked animatedly to some of the men from Alpha that had turned up. Tim followed a similar strategy to the one he’d used at Nate’s party, hanging around the edges and sipping his beer, talking to a few people. It worked for the most part, until Ray came bounding over to him, grinning at him with an alcohol induced flush and swamped in his Recon hoodie. He hopped onto the couch next to Tim and he thought he heard Brad shout something but Ray flipped him off and turned back to throw an arm over his shoulder. 

“Sup Doc!” Ray yelled over the shitty rap music now playing through the speaker, which was obviously Stafford and Christeson’s doing. 

“You’re still conscious?” Tim asked as he resisted the urge to shiver when Ray’s breaths ghosted over the sensitive part of his neck. 

Ray laughed, “Homes, I have no idea what’s going on, but fuck this is the most fun I’ve had since I dyed a bunch of Brad’s clothes pink.” 

Tim rose an eyebrow, but before he could ask for some detail – mostly how he wasn’t buried in Colbert’s garden – the Gunny whistled and the men around them grabbed Ray and thrust him into a chair in the centre of growing circle. It gave Tim a bit of déjà vu as a paddle was passed to Christeson to start the stories. Most were about the stupid shit Ray’d done, though he was surprised when Trombley spoke of the support he’d gotten from Ray and recounted that the advice would stay with him. He saw some other surprised face, but Ray had just grinned and nodded a head, obviously knowing exactly what he was talking about. Tim found himself sobering when Hasser spoke of finding a true brother in Ray, someone that teased and tested him but never stopped supporting him . Tim smiled as Ray ruffled Hasser’s hair and sharing a grin, watery on Hasser’s part. 

The paddle was obviously being steered around Brad as it skipped from Lovell to Espera. Rudy was before him and spoke about the strong loyalty and kindness Ray had in him and how it shone through all the time he’d known him. It was as cheesy and uplifting as Tim’d expected from Rudy and then the paddle was in his hands. 

He examined it. It looked like basswood, light and flexible like Ray, the handle braided with old wires and deep blue and red chord. Ray’s new sergeant chevrons as well as a marksman’s badge and other ribbons adorned the face of the paddle and on the back, there was a small inscription, _Best RTO in the Battalion_. Tim refocused before he could smile at it and turned to the men. He’d spent more time thinking about what’d say than he usually did, but in the end, he was happy with what he’d chosen. 

“To say I ‘met’ Ray would be a gross understatement: it’s more of a baptism of fire.” A lot of the men chuckled at that. “I’ll admit when I did, I saw him as immature and irritating and usually my first impressions are right. But I’m a big enough man to admit that this time they weren’t. It took me a long time to appreciate his brand of chaos.” Another round of chuckles and Tim took a breath, “I know now that our deployment would’ve been a lot harder without you, but I wish you the best and I’m thankful to have served with you.” 

He passed the paddle to the Gunny, who recounted watching Ray grow from a lance corporal before Afghanistan to a sergeant after Iraq. Next up was Colbert and Tim watched as everyone straightened, bracing for what promised to be a fun but emotive speech. Brad straightened and looked directly at Ray as he started. 

“Never in million years would I have expected to be friends with a piece of whiskey tango trailer trash and yet here we are. Ray, you’re the best RTO and driver I could have asked for and it’s going to a big pain in my ass trying to find one half as good, but I want you to know that no one here will repute that leaving is the right choice. You’re our brother and always will be, marine or not.” 

Tim swallowed and looked around; a lot of the men looked misty eyed and a few were rubbing them. Brad offered Ray the paddle and a cheer echoed through the house as his hand grasped the handle. Tim watched Brad and Ray share a hug before Ray dragged Walt and Trombley in to make it a group hug. Tim looked away, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Rudy, you fruity motherfucker!” 

Tim watched with amusement as Ray jumped Rudy and they shared a tight hug, Rudy’s large frame swallowing Ray almost as much as Brad’s had. Then Ray was bouncing over to him and punching him in the arm. 

“What gives homes, I thought you hated my ass?” 

“I thought you were better at reading people than that.” 

Ray tilted his head to the side with a considering look. His face was still flushed but his eyes were a little narrowed, his eyebrows drawn in like he was searching Tim for something. There was a charged silence and then Ray seemed to nod to himself and gave Tim a grin, his hand reaching out and resting on Tim’s arm. His hand was warm, and Tim could feel goose bumps breaking out on his arm as Ray looked at him with a look Tim didn't understand. He was dragged away by Garza before Tim could ask what the fuck just happened. 

-

The party began to quieten down a little after three am when the Alpha men started to leave, along with the marines that had wives waiting like Poke and Kocher. Bravo 3 had taken over the garden at some point and were playing a drinking game which involve more complicated rules than Tim had expected from drunk marines. He'd watched Ray play, throwing the glass bottle with surprising accuracy since he was three sheets to the wind. 

Now, Ray was plastered to Walt’s side, having lost his Recon hoodie, leaving him in a tie-dyed tank top that showed off his black tattoos on his arms. Tim had noticed immediately when he'd arrived that Ray was wearing skinny black jeans paired with clean military-issue boots. An interesting choice – even though Tim had worn his boots with jeans too, mostly because he’d been late getting home from a corpsmen training session – but it worked for Ray, especially because it made the rebuilt muscles of Ray’s thighs and ass easily visible. Tim shook his head because he was not going to go down this route: Ray was leaving, and he didn’t fuck marines, especially ones he’d served with. 

Ray laughed loudly, slapping Trombley’s shoulder, who’d been more relaxed in the past few weeks and slightly less psycho. Perhaps that was what Ray's advice had been about. Everyone else from Bravo 2 was sprawled out around the house: Lovell and Baptista were having a conversation about Brazilian soccer vs American football next to him, on the opposite side of the room T and Stiney were playing cards with Leon and Christopher around Brad’s dinner table. Gunny Wynn had claimed the armchair at some point, his legs kicked up on the coffee table alongside Nate’s, who’d taken the bean bag and the two of them were having a light discussion though Tim got the feeling they were watching over Stafford and Christeson, who passed out on top of one another on the couch. Out on the decking behind the house, he’d spied Pappy and Rudy sitting close together on the swinging bench; Jacks, Chaffin, Brummier, Garza and Lilley were lounging on the other end, building something out of the all the bottle they had around them. The structure fell apart and they burst into loud laughter. 

He refocused when Brad started guiding Ray around, and people slapped him on the back and punched him on the arms. Tim straightened as the pair came around, Ray accepting a slap on the shoulder from Lovell and sting of Portuguese from Baptista. 

“Can you take him home?” Brad asked, turning to Tim. 

Tim rose an eyebrow, “Why me?” 

He was a little concerned when Brad grinned widely but his logic was sound, “I have to keep an eye on these idiots and make sure they don't break anything my mother will moan about, but I can’t do that while making sure Ray doesn’t pass out and his head on the kitchen counter again.” Tim raised an eyebrow, but Brad didn’t acknowledge it, “And since you’re the most sober and most qualified medically to look after Ray when he thinks he’s dying in the morning, I’m asking you.” 

Tim sighed: it wasn’t unusual that he got lumped with taking people home since he never got drunk enough to not to be able drive. 

“Give him here.” Tim said gruffly and Brad nudged Ray towards him. Ray visibly brightened when he saw it was Tim he was being handed off to and stumbled towards him. Tim grabbed his shoulder to stabilise him and Ray took that as an invitation to wrap an arm around Tim’s waist. Tim looked to where Brad had just been standing but he’d already disappeared to sit next to Nate. Tim huffed and helped Ray stand up properly, grabbing his Recon hoodie from the back of a chair. There was a cheer as Tim led Ray out of the door, but the sound was cut off when Tim pulled it closed behind them. 

“Come on Person.” 

Ray blinked at him and tilted his head to the side, “You’re taking me home?” 

Tim shrugged, “Brad asked me to.” 

It was little bit of struggle to get Ray to his car and Tim found out he was a clingy drunk since his arm hadn’t moved from Tim’s waist and he made a wounded noise when Tim unwrapped his arm from around his shoulder to open his car. 

“Thanks for doing this, homes.” Ray mumbled as Tim turned onto the main road. 

“No problem.” They lapsed into silence, Ray's head flopped against the head rest. Tim turned the radio on, and somewhat stupidly waved for Ray to mess with it. He grinned and leaned forward, working out the buttons quicker than Tim would’ve expected given he was drunk and had never seen the radio before. They ended up on a country station, the strums of a guitar and a simple beat echoing through the speakers before a male voice started singing about his girl or something like that. Tim glanced over to Ray who was nodding along and mouthing the words. 

Ray noticed and said, “I’ve been seriously deprived Doc,” 

“Tim.” He blinked because he had been going to comment dryly about how awful that must have been. He didn’t mind though because Ray smiled. Not a grin or a smirk, but an honest to God smile, with dimples that Tim had never taken notice of before. That feeling in his stomach flared up and Tim turned back to the road. 

He asked Ray for directions – which now that he thought about it wasn’t the best idea – but they pulled up in front of Ray and Walt’s apartment block within fifteen minutes. Tim unclipped Ray’s seatbelt for him and grabbed Ray’s Recon hoodie as he got out. It took a little persuasion, but Tim got Ray to put his hoodie on since his arms covered in goose bumps. He stepped back for Ray to get out of the car. Ray paused for a second, staring at the ground before he jerked to the side to vomit, narrowly missing his boots. 

“You alright?” Tim asked as Ray coughed. Ray looked up at him and Tim had to laugh because he looked both pitiful and outraged. He stood up but stumbled and Tim just grabbed him before he hit the ground. 

“Ow.” Ray whined, hopping on one foot. He pouted, “I twisted… that.” Ray waved at his foot. 

Tim chuckled, “Your ankle, Ray.” He looked up at the apartment block, “How far up is your apartment?” 

“Third floor, number ten.” Ray mumbled, thrusting his hand into his pocket, and handing Tim his keys before pouting at his foot. 

Tim heaved a sigh, “Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback.” 

Ray brightened, his grin taking up his whole face, “Fuck yeah.” Tim chuckled again and helped Ray hop up onto his back. Tim wasn't sure if Ray was heavier than he expected or lighter. He locked his car and stepped around the puddle of vomit on the tarmac, hooking his arms under Ray’s knees, his boots bumping against Tim’s thighs. By the time he got through the apartment block doors, he was regretting his decision because Ray's lips were pressed against his neck, breathing hot, moist air on him. The problem grew when he saw the hazard tape crossed over the elevator doors. 

“Fantastic.” He muttered under his breath. 

“You know Doc, your shoulder's really comfy,” Ray said into his neck as he started up the stairs, “like pillows but warmer.” 

“Really?” Tim asked with amusement. 

“Mmhmm, and your hands are really big, and strong but like soft too.” 

Tim could feel the back of his necks heating up, but he couldn’t resist, “Oh yeah, what else?” 

Ray’s nose pressed into his neck, “Your ‘stache ‘s nice too, makes me look at your lips.” Tim pressed his lips together so that he didn’t laugh. “They ‘ook soft too, even ‘en you frown but I ‘on’t mind when you frown, ‘sause I know when you’re worried or sad an’ not angry.” Tim looked to the ceiling as he started up the second flight of stairs. The thing in his chest tightened and twisted the more Ray mumbled into his neck, the more he realised that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the only one that had noticed the other. Ray continued the stem, talking about his bandana and how he missed it, how soft his hair actually was. By the time Tim reached the third floor, he was sure that if there was anyone in the corridor, he’d burst into flames the second he made eye contact with them. 

There was a bang on the opposite side of the corridor and Ray mumbled something that sounded like ‘their drug dealers’ as Tim used the key Ray’d given him to unlock the door. He stepped into the apartment and locked the door behind him, which was when he realised that Ray had gone quiet. 

“Ray?” He asked but he didn’t get a response. He huffed a quiet laugh and carried Ray through the apartment to the two bedrooms. He peered into one, painted a soft yellow and tidy, a cowboy hat resting on the top a wardrobe and an acoustic guitar leant against a desk covered in papers with both rough and more refined sketches. He guessed that was Walt’s room and pushed the other door open. That room had dark blue walls, some clothes laying on the floor, a desk taken up by electronic parts and books and surprisingly, there were three more shelves filled to the brim with books. 

Tim switched on the metal lamp by Ray's bed and lifted the red and blue striped covers up so that he could sit on the edge, carefully unhooking his arms from under Ray’s knees and unwrapping Ray’s arms from his neck. Ray mumbled and Tim paused, waiting to see if he’d wake up. When he didn’t, Tim guided him back onto the bed and set about taking his boots off. He took extra care with Ray’s left boot, untying the boot as much as possible before guiding Ray’s foot out, since that had been the ankle Ray said was twisted. The bones of his ankle were slim in Tim's hand as he checked for swelling but he didn't any. He chuckled when he noticed that one of Ray's socks was a violent green and the other was a soft grey. Tim stood and put the boots down next to each other by Ray’s desk. He was weighing up the option of stripping Ray out of his skinny jeans when Ray’s eyes popped open. 

“Tim?” 

Tim walked back over and sat by his side, “Come on Ray, let’s get you out of those jeans.” It took some manoeuvring – Tim was pretty sure Ray was still half asleep – but they managed to get Ray’s jeans off with having to get scissors. “Bed, come on.” Tim went to get up, but Ray grabbed his arm and made a protesting noise. 

Tim froze. He had to admit, seeing Ray like this was pretty adorable. Ray’s face was scrunched up against the soft light from his lamp, his hair in tuffs and his eyes closing every second or so like he was fighting sleep just to stay with him. The fact that his hoodie was swamping him, pulled wide around his neck and only just covering the brightly patterned boxers brief he had on, helped make Ray look much softer than Tim had seen, even when treating him when the softness had been tinged with sadness or fatigue. 

“Stay.” He mumbled, tugging on Tim’s arm again. It snapped Tim out of his musing, and he found himself reaching down to untie his boots. He reasoned with himself as he put his boots down next to Ray’s, that Brad had asked him to look after Ray and he couldn’t do that if he left or wasn’t even in the same room as him. After a second of deliberation, he pulled his jeans and jacket off as well and shuffled under Ray’s covers. 

Ray immediately flopped on Tim's chest, rubbing his face against Tim's collarbone as he got comfortable, throwing one arm and one leg over Tim’s body. Tim huffed, smiling softly as he watched Ray’s eyes close fully and stay that way. He rearranged Ray’s flat pillows behind him and switched off the lamp, settling in for a night trapped under Ray’s sprawled body.

-

Tim awoke to someone breathing against his neck. He glanced down at the tuffs of brown hair by his chin and the face slack with sleep below it. Ray had drooled a little in his sleep, leaving a wet patch on Tim’s t-shirt but Tim found he didn’t care. Instead, he reached up with the arm that Ray thankfully hadn’t slept on and rubbed Ray’s back gently. Ray murmured and shifted further in Tim’s space, his hair now brushing against Tim’s chin. 

Tim knew he was smiling so he turned his head to look around the room. It was morning, some time around nine if he had to guess by how much light was getting through Ray’s shitty blinds. Tim didn’t understand how people could sleep without at least some darkness but in a way it made sense with Ray. 

“Is that a M-16 or are you just happy to see me?” 

Tim didn’t jump physically but his heart skipped a beat as Ray’s face was suddenly looking up at him, still loose with sleep. 

“Wouldn’t it be a Beretta?” 

Ray laughed loosely, twisting to lean even more on Tim’s chest, “No, I definitely think it’s an M-16.” 

Tim wasn’t going to blush when Ray had no idea what he was saying, “Ray, how hungover are you?” 

“Not at all. I shake hangovers pretty easy. Brad says it’s because of all the alcohol my mum drunk while she was pregnant but I think he’s just jealous.” Tim narrowed his eyebrows. Brad had said Ray got awful hangovers. Ray seemed to pause and then he was looking at Tim hesitatingly, “I can’t remember talking about…” he waved a hand. 

Tim narrowed his eyes, “I was making sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit but-” he paused when Ray went white and that was when Tim realised Ray was hard against his hip. Ray started to shuffle away, carefully like he didn’t want Tim to notice how close they’d been a second ago and Tim sighed. He was going to have to ask because he’d had enough of _we’re not going to talk about this until it’s a problem, and even then we’re not going to say the shit we want to say_ when he lived at his parents’ house. 

“What did you think we’d talked about?” Tim tried his best to imitate his sister’s I’m-not-going-to-judge-I-just-want-to-know tone, as she called it. She’d perfected it after Bri had started walking and talking. 

“ThatImighthaveabigfatcrushonyou.” Ray said quickly. It took a second for Tim to understand because it was early, and he was still drifting in the comfortable feeling having woken up with someone, with Ray. 

“Surprisingly, that wasn’t mentioned.” Tim said dryly, though it was hard to stop the corners of his mouth twitching up. Ray seemed to notice, and he relaxed, pausing where he’d sat up. “It’s a good thing it’s mutual.” 

Ray’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Tim chuckled as Ray’s face cycled through several emotion until it settled on happy but with an added heat. Tim’s breath caught at the look and when Ray shot forward, Tim fell back against the pillows and grasped the back of Ray’s head. Ray’s lips were dry and a little chapped, drool still clinging to his bottom lip and when Tim tilted his head and opened his mouth, they both tasted like morning breath, made worse by the leftover alcohol. Tim found he didn’t care because Ray was pressing into him, slotting his leg between Tim’s and swirling his tongue like he had all the time in the world to get to know Tim’s mouth. 

Tim hummed and cupped Ray’s jaw with one hand, the other drifting down to his waist where it was easy to find skin. Ray let some more of his weight press on Tim and he made an encouraging sound, spreading his right leg until his foot hit the ground, moving Ray so that he lay in between them. 

“Ah shit,” Ray moaned into Tim’s neck and they both groaned when Ray rocked down. Tim groaned again when Ray decided he’d explore somewhere else. His neck had always been sensitive but under Ray’s mouth, it felt like every slide of his tongue or every soft suck was going to push him over. 

“Sensitive?” Ray teased and Tim had to give as good as he got. He picked Ray up by his hips and rolled him onto his back, following as far as he could before he would hit the wall. Ray gasped and his hips jerked, his face flushing. Tim smirked and Ray huffed at him. “That’s not fair Doc.” 

“It’s Tim, Ray.” 

“It’s Josh, Tim.” Ray said in reply, pulling his mouth down in what Tim thought was an imitation of him. Then it hit. No one called Ray Josh, not even Brad. 

“Josh huh.” He said, staying calm even as his heart jumped. Ray grinned under him and Tim had to taste it. Ray groaned as Tim kissed him, throwing his arms around Tim's neck. An elbow connected with the wall and Tim laughed, reaching up to rub it. “Careful Josh.” 

“Shut up.” Ray whined before attaching his mouth back against Tim’s neck. It was ridiculous that Ray’d found it so easy, so Tim set about finding a weak point of his own. He found that Ray’s hips twitched when he teased his fingers along the line of his hipbones, but Ray beat him to the next one when he slid his fingers into Tim’s hair. 

“Fuck.” Tim cursed, thrusting roughly as pleasure fizzled down his spine. Ray arched his back into it and echoed Tim with a groan. “Clothes off.” Tim said gruffly, pushing away to pull his t-shirt over his head. Ray wiggled under him, wrestling his hoodie and tank top in one go. Tim let himself stare at Ray’s chest tattoos this time, thumbing one of the stars and traced the No Dice with his eyes. He looked up and Ray was staring up at him with anticipation, his eyes were almost all black. Tim moved his thumb down and grinned when Ray’s eyes snapped shut and his breath hitched. Found one. 

Tim moved Ray away from the wall and shuffled down his body to latch his mouth around Ray’s nipple. Ray jerked like he’d been electrocuted, and his groan echoed off the walls. Tim grinned and sucked harder, pressing Ray’s hip down with a hand. It made Ray’s gasps louder and one hand cupped the back of his head, urging him closer. 

“Tim, oh _fuck_ , Tim.” He revelled in the way Ray’s voice hitched up when he dragged his teeth over the bud. “Shit stop, I’m gonna come, fuck.” 

Tim pulled away but Ray grabbed his arm - his hand didn’t even fit all the way around - and pulled him into a kiss. Ray’s hand wondered as his tongue traced along Tim’s teeth. Tim grunted when Ray’s hand wrapped around him, his thumb slipping over his slit to tug on him. 

“Off.” Tim said lowly, rolling onto his side to tug on the waistband of Ray’s boxer briefs. Ray laughed and they pushed both of their boxers off together. Ray’s hand strayed a couple of times, followed by short laughs when Tim buckled into his hand. He could have sworn sex didn’t usually involve this much laughter but maybe it was just Ray, and just being with Ray that made him chuckle too. 

“Er, I hope you know the logistics of this.” Ray said. “Contrary to most media, marines don’t swap that many hand jobs, unlike the Navy of course.” 

Tim snorted, “The fact that I know the logistic is more to do with the fact that I’m bisexual than me being in the Navy, Josh. Have you got-” 

“Top drawer.” Tim reach into it and grinned, rose an eyebrow as he waved the half-used bottle. Ray huffed, “That’s your fault.” 

“Let me make it up to you then.” Tim said as he straddled Ray’s thighs, squeezing some lube onto both Ray’s hand and his own. Ray looked sheepishly but his hand was firm and confident when it wrapped around Tim’s cock. He grunted and rocked into the grip encouragingly. Ray grinned and found the right rhythm infuriatingly quickly. Tim had been planning on teasing just a little longer, but he could feel his orgasm building with every twist of Ray’s wrist, so he got down to business. He took immense pleasure out of Ray’s choked groan and stuttered pace and choose to go a little faster than he usually did. 

“ _Tim_.” Ray whined, his legs twitching under Tim’s thighs. Tim grinned and leaned down, rocking into Ray’s fist, which was still deliciously tight even as his attention wandered. He sealed his mouth over Ray’s nipple again and he shivered when Ray’s breathy moan synced with the tight pleasure of Ray’s fingers wandering to his sack. He teased the tip of his tongue over the bud before sucking and biting and taking Ray over the edge. 

He gasped in the back of his throat when he came over Tim’s hand, his back arching, and his mouth parting to let out a broke moan as he relaxed back into the bed. His hand hadn’t slacked at all – impressive – so Tim focused on the slid of his cock along with many calluses of Ray’s hand, staring at the blissful look on Ray’s face, his tattoos glistening with sweat and tight leanness of his chest. 

“Fuck.” Tim muttered as he came. He had enough self-control to slip onto the bed and not onto Ray. They lay in silence for a couple of minutes, the line of Ray’s body pressed against Tim’s front as he lay on his side. Ray flopped his head to the side and kissed the underside of Tim’s jaw. 

“Next time, I’m making you come first.” Ray muttered, nuzzling his nose to where he’d just kissed. Tim hummed and reached down for Ray’s tank top to wipe them off since he only had to the one t-shirt. Ray grumbled a little but went where Tim moved him and they ended up in the position they’d been in when they woke up; Tim on his back against the pillows with Ray moulded along his side, his head on Tim’s collarbone. 

“This was a set up.” Tim said. 

“Oh yeah, and believe me, I’m going to be giving Brad and Walt shit until the end of time because they told me they didn’t give a shit about my love life.” 

Tim snorted and let the phrase _love life_ float around his head. He didn’t really know what the future held but when he looked over to Ray’s desk, where Ray’s boots sat next to his – different sizes of the same boot – he hoped Ray would be apart of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow: Day 3: Humvee/ College/High-school AU/ Bodyswap


End file.
